


this love ain't finished yet

by r1ker



Category: Midnight Special (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 03:16:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6639055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/r1ker/pseuds/r1ker





	this love ain't finished yet

Roy behaves as he is wont to do, so they come to him with a proposal on what is to be his third month in prison.

 

“We know that friend of yours has been coming by a lot,” a guard drawls. He's been perhaps the most sympathetic to Roy’s cause, letting Lucas (Roy knows he knows the “friend’s” name, knows Lucas is much more than a friend) stay for an extra fifteen minutes at each visit. This one let the two of them touch, even move away from a table that was meant to divide the prisoner from their guest once. “So we’re giving you a gift, if you will. I had a crew set up a conjugal out back in a reserved trailer on the next weekend up. Friday night and all of Saturday, and he's got to leave Sunday after lunch. Deal?”

 

Roy’s mood lightened the second the word _gift_ came into play. He nods and the guard returns his resulting smile. Roy moves back from the bars, lets the guard go away without watching Roy’s gaze drift wistfully to the crudely formed calendar on the cinder block wall. A lingering part of him thinks this is one hell of a cruel trap and even finds it tempting to tell the guard no, but he can't. It's been long enough in here without Lucas next to him day in and day out, and even if whatever sort of information slips out into the listening ears of the conjugal trailer, he honestly couldn't give a damn.

 

Thursday night he readies himself. He takes a few minutes longer in the communal shower, scours himself as if Lucas has ever been nitpicky about him, and gets first access to the conjugal trailer at midnight. It's not a bad looking little joint, California king mattress in the center made with mismatched floral sheets. There is a table with chairs in the corner, an old television tucked away into a worn credenza. Roy flops down onto the bed with that guard’s laughter ringing in the background and with the soft sound of the door shutting behind him as he leaves Roy alone, all is finally peaceful to Roy.

 

Friday morning at ten is when Lucas arrives. Instead of being ushered into the visitor center he is brought right to the conjugal trailer in a quietly rumbling Cadillac, with an overnight bag of his own. Within it is anyone's usual necessities, a toothbrush and clean clothes, but luxuries he couldn't help but throw in like books for Roy and an ancient VHS of _The Empire Strikes Back_. A pillow for his aching back and a jumbo bottle of aspirin to alleviate it. Beneath it all, all the bric-a-brac and what is to be expected of a man seeing his lover is a bottle of lube and strip of condoms. He remembers fondly laughing at that, feeling like a teenager.

 

When Roy opens the door following a series of tentative knocks he's never felt so nervous in his life. At his gesture of welcome Lucas falls to his knees slowly on the welcome mat, inching up close to let his forehead rest against Roy's belly, letting Roy press a hand to his head where his hair has grown in their time apart. Roy presses enough to let Lucas know to tip his head back and he lets Lucas’s eyes with a thankful exhale.

 

“Stand up and kiss me why don't you,” Roy mumbles and Lucas does, sweeps him up and slams the door behind him with a jab of his booted heel. They tangle a little on their way down to the bed, Lucas’s bag falling from his hand to rest abandoned on the woven carpet floor. Lucas kisses him with one big hand at the back of Roy’s head to grip his tangle of wavy hair for steadiness.

 

“Oh, I’m going to do more than kiss you if the Florida Department of Corrections and the Federal Bureau of Investigation has anything to say about it,” Lucas murmurs when their mouths finally do pull back to take in air. Now he hovers just above Roy with one hand to his cheek, the other beneath his soft polo shirt deemed part of the conjugal visit agreement of casual wear. Here Lucas can feel his warm belly, the rise and fall of it as Roy breathes, and the fire in him ceases to stoke. “But for now I’m going to spare you.”

 

Lucas sits up and lets Roy sidle up against him. He reaches behind him to turn on the side table lamp. Roy’s face becomes illuminated by a dull yellow glow. “You still look the way you left me twenty years ago, you know that? They picked a good picture when you were on the lam.” Again he pats Roy’s clean-shaven face. For a few moments more they lie against each other, heads sinking back into the surprisingly forgiving pillows. Outside day turns into night, cooler air and a chorus of crickets sing on the small porch outside.

 

Roy hums in the back of his throat and throws his arm over Lucas's waist, feeling the bed shift as the man toes his boots off and scoots up closer. "I overheard someone on the rounds yesterday that if I played my cards right they'd let me go in a few weeks. Guess I'm getting a little boring for them." Lucas dismisses that last statement with a strange sort of noise.

 

"You're not boring, they're just picky," Lucas says as he moves further up on the bed to compensate for the slight height advantage Roy has over him. There their foreheads press together. "I mean, come on. You have to live your entire life in law enforcement day in and day out. Wouldn't you get looking for Bigfoot?" Roy supposes he's right.

 

"Bet you haven't been looking for Bigfoot," Roy adds as he finds himself mindlessly adjusting Lucas's rumpled t-shirt. "Been looking for his dollar store cousin Largetoe by the way you've been dressing lately. You just look tired, that's all. I could have you in a paper bag and be completely satisfied with myself." Lucas's face flushes hot for just a second.

 

It hasn't been easy resettling in Florida after being raised in Texas for all 43 years of his life. For one thing he hates orange juice, the Florida Gators haven't been good since the 90's, and he could go his entire existence not having to merge into seven lanes of traffic outside of Tallahassee. He spends most of his days in a haze, one about as hot as the climate, drifting from place to place trying to not lose his mind in yet another bout of solitude. The library, the corner coffee shop that he's convinced makes their dark brew in a mop bucket, hell, even the Laundromat with middle-aged women as their only clients is the only thing keeping him sane in that world.

 

"I'm tired, Roy," Lucas says, easing forward once again to allow his eyes to close. "I'm so very tired." Roy nods and pulls him closer, in such near proximity that he can very well feel the beat of Lucas's heart. Here Lucas could sleep forever despite feeling exhausted down to the bone. He remembers faintly doing it when they were younger and eight hundred miles away, in hotel beds and the twin bed of Lucas's childhood home, in the bench seat of the Cheville and the booths of deserted diners.

 

The mood swings a little in another direction for Lucas and he looks up all of a sudden, kisses Roy's mouth with none of the voracity he had upon arriving at the trailer. Roy accepts without hesitation and keeps one hand smoothing gently at the nape of Lucas's neck. While the temperature in the room has remained static for the entire time Lucas has been inside of it a shiver runs from where Roy gives his ministrations, down his spine in an electric volt.

 

He moves them over to where again Roy is beneath him, this time with both of Lucas's hands working on getting his pants down around his knees. Once that's done and Roy's lithe body is arranged to his liking on the crumpled bedspread Lucas returns to his bag and retrieves what nineteen-year-old him is high-fiving him for right now. Roy looks down and Lucas almost has to stop and join him when his laughter, so rare in its nature but precious nonetheless, begins to sound.

 

"You come and see me for a weekend," he snickers, kicking off his legs while Lucas struggles with the foil wrapper on the condom and safety seal on the lid of the bottle of lube. "And you bring… never mind. Get up here, loverboy." Lucas throws aside the material bunched between his hand and goes for the lube.

 

"A weekend where I get to have you all to myself without the state of Florida looking over my shoulder, you didn't stand a chance," Lucas goes on almost conversationally as two of his fingers work Roy open expertly, never forgetting the give of his body despite all those years apart. In the very back of his throat Roy makes soft little noises that weaken Lucas's knees where they keep him braced on the bed.

 

Soon it's done and Lucas sits back on his haunches trying to roll on a condom with shaking hands. He has to stop once to catch his breath, again channeling a part of himself left somewhere in the early 90's, but only a few seconds afterwards is he able to arrange himself accordingly.

 

When he leans down to kiss Roy, working his way inside him as if slow and steady really is the way to win the race, he's taken aback when his lower lip is caught between a set of teeth. An uneven bite presses down hard to allow the sharpness of pain distract him from the heat pooling in his belly telling him to lose control.

 

Thrusts at first are very shallow, barely taking him much of anywhere, but the sensation, the heat, the feel, everything is just about the same as if he was more involved. As is his way of being in tune with things Roy's body moves with him, betraying the unstable bedframe as it hits the wood paneling of the wall with their motions.

 

After, when they've finally ridden themselves of anything denying them skin-to-skin contact, Lucas rests with his back to Roy's chest, watching the second _Star Wars_ movie like it's not his 560th time seeing it. Roy's thumb tracing circles just above his heart, around where hair never quite seemed to grow on his chest, the muted sounds of AT-AT walkers attacking an ice base on Hoth, almost put him to sleep.

 

"You ever wondered what would have happened to this whole franchise if the ice, the whole 'being without his Tauntaun thing' finally got to Luke? You know, he died?" Lucas proposes with words barely interpretable beneath the sound of the television and the deafening mutual hush over the room. "Do you think they would have gone on with Han as the big hero?"

 

Roy considers that statement, the way this whole franchise fit into their lives in Texas, and doesn't think it to be entirely unreasonable. After all the two of them seemed to have fit into those roles just with who they were; whether they liked it or not they were heroes perhaps not to themselves but to those they impacted.

 

Heretics aside Roy's always thought of what would have happened if Luke Skywalker had succumbed to the icy conditions of Hoth, never defeated his father Darth Vader, hell, didn't even know Vader was his father. It was so radical he hadn't even written his own say on it when he was a teenager.

 

"I think they would have," Roy answers with his nose to Lucas's temple, watching the movie with him close as he can get. "It was the eighties, did anyone really have anything to lose? Harrison Ford still needed to eat, you know." He thinks back to when at one point in his life, the only two men he could have cared to have around him at all times was Lucas and Han Solo.

 

Those two gave him all he needed – he was always surprised when his mother raised no objections to Han novels over exaggerated romantic storylines with Leia involved when they did come across books about the series in thrift stores.

 

It was silly on the outside but at its very core it was just who he was. And Lucas loved it, even after Roy left, even as they lie here now on a prison bed trying to watch a movie through a flickering screen.

 

"Oh, you and Harrison Ford, Harrison Ford," Lucas teases despite raising their clasped hands to his lips to kiss once again. "Could've sworn at one time you were gonna leave me for him if you found a one-way to California and a willing taxi driver to take you to his mansion. Where, by the way, he had like four wives and five kids. Never saw you for a stepdad." Roy hushes him with a light slap to his shoulder and Lucas laughs in that same airy way he would have done years ago. Maybe they're not all back to normal yet, activities might not have resumed as they would have over the Texas border, but for the rest of the weekend, being next to each other is as close as they will get to any sort of semblance of normal.

 

That is, if they ever had it.


End file.
